


Red Silk and Jade Blood

by placentalmammal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bulges and Nooks, F/F, Sexual Inexperience, Shibari, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Latula's never been dominant before, and Porrim shows her the ropes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Silk and Jade Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lildogie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildogie/gifts).



> "I like the idea of Porrim as a sort of laid-back, sex-positive, mentor type. I'd like to see her teach Latula something sexily. Either something that actually has to do with sex, or something unrelated but sexy times ensue anyhow."
> 
> I made heavy use of [this](http://fanrin.deviantart.com/art/Fanrin-s-Weave-Tutorial-155514273) shibari tutorial when writing this fic. Enjoy!

The cord is a memory of East-Beforan silk, red, stark and lovely against grey skin. You wind it experimentally around your wrists and fingers and pull it taut, savoring the sensation.

“Are you ready?” Porrim’s voice is gentle, a caress, whisper-soft and finer even than the silk looped ‘round your wrists. She’s kneeling on the sofa with her back to you, nude from the waist up, dressed only in black panties that cling to her body, highlighting the curve of her buttocks. Her tattoos are lacy swirls of black ink, running up her spine and spilling over her shoulders. You trace the lines, running your fingers along her spine, and she shudders, almost imperceptibly.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

“Latula dear, don’t apologize,” she rebukes. Her tone is firm but gentle, with an edge of genuine affection. “Now,” she says, “are you ready to begin?”

You take a deep breath to steady yourself before you respond. “Yes,” you say, trying to match her confidence. “Yes, let’s get this started.”

At your words, Porrim puts her hands behind her back and rests them, palm-down, on either side of her spine. You brush her hair over her shoulder, baring her back and all its exquisite tattoos. Porrim remains perfectly still as loop the beautiful red cord around her wrists, tucking the tails through the loop and cinching. Holding the long end in one hand, you reach around Porrim, letting your fingers brush her belly as you pass the cord from hand to hand, looping it around her waist. When you pull the rope tight, the silk cord bites appealingly into her soft flesh and Porrim makes a small, approving noise, a _purr_ deep in her throat. The sound goes straight to your nook, and you’re glad that she can’t see the teal flush crawling its way up your cheeks.

Throat uncomfortably dry, you loop the cord around her wrists, pulling tight. Porrim’s too stubborn to cry out when you pull savagely on the cord, cinching it even tighter in an effort to draw that purr from her again. You wind the cord around itself, turning the loop into handcuffs, a figure eight around her wrists and pause for a moment, admiring your handiwork. Porrim wriggles her fingers experimentally, and you swat her on the shoulder. “Hold still,” you say, trying for imperious and unconcerned, but it comes out a croak.

Porrim chuckles, and you slap her again, hard enough to raise a vivid, jade-green welt on her shoulder blade. The color stands out brilliantly against the black of her tattoos, and the sight of it gives you a heady rush. Reverently, you press your lips against the mark of your discipline and feel her fighting to keep still and silent, as per your orders. Fire lances through your core and your bulge _throbs_ in response.

Hands trembling, you pull the cord up from her lashed wrists, over her biceps, and around her torso, underneath her bust. You brush her pierced nipples with your thumbs, and Porrim leans back into you, pressing her tattooed back flush against your chest. Your blush creeps down to your chest and heat pools in your groin. Instead of disciplining Porrim, you reward her with a kiss, pressing your lips to her neck beneath her hairline. You imagine her face taut with the strain of obeying orders, imagine her eyes fluttering shut, her full lips parting. Her jade-flushed skin is warm against your mouth, its taste sweet and distracting. One hand snakes around her body to squeeze her breasts, and you lose yourself to the moment, savoring her as she gasps and shivers under your mouth.

To your embarrassment, your hold on the silk cord slacks and it slips from your fingers, falling into the space between her warm body and the sofa.

“Shit!”

Moment ruined, you lean away from her, your arousal slipping away. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ you berate yourself, fumbling for the skein of red cord, your cheeks burning. Your fingers close around the cord, and you pull it back up and try to pick up where you left off, pulling the cord tight underneath her breasts and bringing back around her body, looping it ‘round her other bicep. You falter and nearly drop the cord again, swearing under your breath the whole while.

“Tula.” Porrim’s voice is an oasis of calm, bringing you back to center. “It’s okay. Things like this happen, and you move on with the scene. You’ve got this under control.”

Her faith in you is complete, despite your inexperience as a domme. You close your eyes and take a deep breath to calm yourself. Once the trembling in your hands has subsided, you throw your shoulders back and muster your authority. “I didn’t give you permission to speak, _Jadeblood_.” Still holding the silk cord taut, you lean into her and press your mouth against her neck and shoulders, kissing beautiful, silvery-green bruises into her grey flesh. Porrim squirms against her restraints and leans back into you. You pinch her thigh with your free hand, and she gasps. “Stay _still_ ,” you command, and Porrim obeys.

The cord loops around her arm and connects with the loops of rope at her wrists. From there, you bring it up, over her left shoulder, and then down, underneath the band, forming a sharp V between her breasts. You bring the cord back up, over her right shoulder and down again to the cuffs tied ‘round her wrists. You do it the way she showed you, winding the loose end of the cord around the ropes trailing over her arms and shoulders, creating a tight column of rope hugging the curve of her spine and tightening the bands over her chest and arms. When you reach her shoulder blades, you stop and weave the loose end through the web of ropes, creating a basket-weave pattern. You tie off when you run out of rope, and lean back to admire your handiwork, holding Porrim in place with one hand.

“Finished.” It’s imperfect; your knots are a little loose, a little lopsided, but the overall effect is stunning. The contrast of the red cord against her smooth grey skin, green bruises, and black tattoos takes your breath away. “You’re beautiful,” you say, a little breathless.

“Thanks to you,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse. You kiss her again; she’s just being modest.

Resting your cheek against the slope of her shoulder, you reach around to her front, running your hand over the silk cord cutting into her skin at her waist and underneath her breasts. She inhales sharply when you pinch her nipple, rolling her piercing between your claws and gasps when you bite the the tip of her pointed ear. Porrim is so soft, so _sensitive_ , so _responsive_ , whimpering and shuddering at the slightest touches. Keeping one hand flat against her belly, claws poised to scratch if she moves, you slide the other down her abdomen and between her legs, cupping her fully unsheathed bulge through her panties. It squirms against your palm, seeking release. Her arousal is potent, intoxicating, and you shiver as your own bulge slips free of its sheath.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” you rasp, your voice a low rumble against the shell of her hear. “Gonna use you, Jadeblood. Make you _mine_.” Porrim twitches and gasps in your hold, and your nails bite into her soft belly, earning you a pained moan.

You lean away, and she actually _whines_ at the sudden withdrawal of your hand and your heat, a pained noise high in her throat. She leans forward and presses her face into the sofa, panting and waiting for your command.

“Turn around,” you order. “I wanna see _all_ of you.”

Her movements are clumsy, off-balanced, a green flush rising high in her cheeks, but you don’t offer any aid. When she has herself turned around, you hold her at arm’s length and take a moment to admire her: her breasts are green and mottled with hand-shaped bruises, relics of your earlier attentions. Her bulge, slick and shining, has almost wriggled free from of her underwear; you ignore her arousal and push her roughly back against the sofa and kiss her, properly this time, grabbing a handful of her breasts and squeezing. Porrim gasps against your mouth and you catch her lower lip between your teeth. She tastes like wine and her piercing feels strange in your mouth, but arcs her back to press her body more firmly against yours. You kiss her breathless, and when you push her away, she’s panting hungrily, her eyes locked on yours.

One hand drops to her groin and you tug her bulge free of her panties, letting it twine around your fingers, contracting gently. Your own bulge twitches in response, and you free it with your spare hand. Her bulge is bigger and thicker than yours, a fat, slick base tapering to an elegant point, jade green and glistening. She’s got girth, you’ve got length—10 slender inches of teal flesh, twitching and pulsing in time to the pounding of your bloodpusher, curling in on itself.

You wrench your hand free of her bulge—Porrim cries out, music to your ears—and catch one of her horns. Your fingers, slick from her juices, slide a little on the smooth keratin, but you manage to get a firm grip and tilt her head down to watch as you guide your bodies together. Your bulge twines around hers, wrapping itself firmly around her base, your head just brushing the entrance of her nook. You lean in for a kiss, swallowing her moans and biting her lip to punish her for her disobedience. Her sharp teeth scrape your gums and your mouth fills with blood, hers or yours, you can’t tell.

Her bulge twitches and pulses against yours, her nook contracting against the slick head of your bulge. You can feel her straining, the ropes biting into her skin as she thrashes against her bonds. Her orgasm is loud and powerful, as she suddenly stiffens, then twitches underneath you, screaming your name as she comes. Bright jade paints your nook and thighs as she shudders in your hold, her nook gushing genetic material, and her orgasm sends you over the edge. You come in her and around her, soaking her black panties and dripping down her plump thighs, your juices staining her skin.

Panting, you break contact, gently extracting your bulge from her nook. It hangs limply between your legs, spent, as you begin to pick at the knots pinning her arms in place. She watches you through hooded eyes, a smile twisting her swollen lips.

“You did a good job,” she says, approvingly.

You push a piece of hair out of her face, tucking it into place behind her ear. “Thanks for showing me how.” The knot comes loose and the silk cord goes slack in your hands. You spool it around your forearm as you undo her bindings, helping her shift her weight to free her hands and arms.

“Think nothing of it, darling,” she says, rubbing her wrists once they’re freed. “If you’re eager to learn, then I’m eager to show you.”

You smile down at her and lean in for a final kiss. “That’s me,” you say, happily. “Always eager.”


End file.
